


I Am Full of Sins

by killerkitty15



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Magic, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Bullying, Care of Magical Creatures, Cliche, Cliche Bully Scene, Crups (Harry Potter), Discrimination, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Gay Sex, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Jealousy, M/M, Magical Pregnancy, Mpreg, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oral Sex, Out of Character, Possessive Behavior, Smut, Stalking, Teen Pregnancy, Teen Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerkitty15/pseuds/killerkitty15
Summary: One drunk night, one night they chalked up as a mistake, one night they swore to forget, ties them together despite their past, their desires, their misgivings... despite everything





	1. Chapter 1

The hangover wasn’t what got to Harry. Or the fuzzy, out of focus memories from the night before (after The War and returning to a half destroyed Hogwarts, dormitory parties were common -at least, the alcohol was- but Harry thought he and everyone else were a little entitled). He recognized the heavy, red curtains encasing his bed, Ron’s bear like snores and Neville’s sleepy mutterings; he recognized all of this but his bed was much warmer than it usually was and, when he turned to his right, there was a pale, elegant back facing him, pale blonde hair fanned out across the pillow. For a moment, Harry was afraid that it was Luna -he remembered that she had sat in his lap and giggled when he kissed her cheek- but the hair was too short.

Harry’s stomach dropped because he knew only one other person that had hair that white-blonde (he didn’t want to think about how he knew the difference in shades between Luna’s hair and... _his_ ). He laid and stared at the naked back until it moved; there was a sigh -breathy and unselfconscious -and the muscles flexed as the individual turned and -yeah- Harry’s suspicions proved to be correct. Draco Malfoy was the one bare ass naked in his bed, still asleep and looking disturbingly -beautifully- peaceful; he slept curled up on his side, blonde hair loose, eyelids and long eyelashes slightly fluttering, lips a bit parted as he made (cute) little sleepy sounds and kitten snores.

He pretended not to notice the stark differences between Malfoy and the Gryffindors he was so accustomed to, even if it was something as insignificant as sleeping habits. The pureblood hardly had any _body hair_ and-.

Harry shut that thought down violently, tensing when the blonde shifted and stretched with the first signs of wakefulness. He shut his eyes, half burying his face into the pillow and waited. The bed dipped as Malfoy shifted, the blankets moving until they suddenly stopped, the Slytherin’s breathing having changed. There was a nearly silent gasp as realization seemed to set in and Malfoy whimpered a quiet, “Oh, fuck.” Silence befell them and Harry held his breath, wondering what the pureblood would do next-. “Potter, I know you’re awake. You’re practically hyperventilating over there.”

The Boy Who Lived opened his eyes to see stormy, regretful, grey eyes. Malfoy’s eyebrows were pinched together, his expression grim and hands running down his face and across his eyes, looking more affected than Harry had ever seen him. Except that time in the bathroom, but Harry quickly pushed that aside -as he did with anything too difficult or emotional- or risk the black guilt threatening to make itself known. Harry swallowed down the lump of tangled emotion stuck in his throat before even trying to acknowledge… whatever this was. “Did we…?”

“Shag? Yes,” Malfoy snapped, though he kept his voice quiet, he turned to glare at the Gryffindor, sitting up and visibly wincing, “Don’t worry, _‘Chosen One’_ , it seems I was the one on the receiving end. Your heterosexual masculinity is as intact as your savior complex.”

He blushed, watching as a naked _Draco Malfoy_ quickly and quietly collected his clothing from the night before and slipped them on. “This is- I mean- I’m not-.”

“Bent?” Harry received the Slytherin’s signature sneer and a raised, delicate eyebrow. “I figured. You said it enough when you were shoving your cock down my throat.” He turned a deeper shade of red, which earned him a scoff of derision from his bed partner. “Don’t worry, you’re at least gifted in the size department. As expected of The Savior,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes and tugging down his jumper, delicate feet being shoved into warm looking, clearly expensive and Slytherin themed slippers.

“Stop talking about it,” he snapped, accio-ing a pair of pajama pants and hastily stepping into them, “We are _never_ talking about this. _Ever.”_

“Of course, Potter. The sooner we forget about this, the better,” the blonde hissed, trying to tame his bed head but failing, “Just… let me out of this den of lions.”

“So you can return to your nest of _snakes_ , you prat?” They easily fell back into their bitter hatred for each other and Harry desperately tried to ignore how heavy that made his chest feel.

As soon as they both safely made it passed the heavily sleeping Gryffindors, Malfoy snapped his head around with a sneer so hateful and vile it made Harry’s hair stand on end and he had to resist the urge to draw his wand. “Don’t forget, Petter,” he snarled, practically baring his teeth as they made their way to the common room, “you were a _parseltongue_ and the Hat wanted to place you in _our_ house first. You’re no less of a snake then I am.”

His jaw clenched because how _dare_ Malfoy? The dark haired boy was about to say something like “I’m not a Slytherin. I defeated the Dark Lord instead of joining him” but was cut off by a high pitched squeak of alarm. They spun around only to see a shocked Hermione in casual Muggle clothes -it was Saturday- and her out of control, curly hair in a messy bun at the top of her head, a quill sticking out of it; her arms were full of books and it was obvious that she had woken up early to go to the library even though she had been at the party yesterday, too. Harry just… stared at her, unsure what to say to explain away the situation without telling the truth when Malfoy, like the greasy prat he was, recovered gracefully.

“Granger,” he said easily, still managing to sound haughty, “I see you are _just_ getting started on your History of Magic paper? Clearly, you are slacking off this year. So disappointing.”

“For the record, I had been writing the Arithmancy essay for Vector,” she sputtered, face going red with indignation, completely insulted that her academic dedication had been put into question.

“Really, Granger? Arthmany? That is nothing but Divination with numbers; hardly more reliable.”

Hermione was practically fuming, too irritated to ask any uncomfortable questions, mind racing with ways to defend her favorite subject. Before she could say anything, however, a dreamy greeting came from behind her.

“Good morning, Hermione. Draco. Harry.” Luna came from the direction of the girls’ dormitories, hair swept into a messy side ponytail and wearing the clothes she had on the day before. She gave all three of them a soft, friendly smile, much to the Gryffindors’ confusion.

“Ah, good morning, Luna,” Hermione greeted, blinking at her in a rather owlish way, “Did you sleep well?”

“Very,” she said simply, stepping up to Malfoy, “Thank you for the hangover potion, Draco. I’ve never been able to handle it well.”

It would have been funny, watching the Slytherin blush, tense and squirm like he did… only-.

“You talk to each other?” Harry spoke before he really thought about it, “I mean, in a friendly way?”

Luna gave the dark haired boy another soft smile and nodded. “Draco is very nice to me,” she said, standing closer to Malfoy then… well, than any non-Slytherin dared, “We have Magical Creatures and Potions together. He is very good at it, you know.”

Malfoy turned an even darker shade of red, quickly dismissing himself. Though Luna joined him, hot on his heels and casting a distracted “Fair well” over her shoulder. Harry didn’t want to think about the uncomfortable feeling he got watching them.

“Harry…”

He felt his face harden, not wanting to even think of the expression that might’ve been on his face. “I really don’t want to talk about it, ‘Mione.”

His friend’s face was soft with understanding but he didn’t know _what_ , exactly, she understood. “You’ll have to talk about it at some point, you know,” the female Gryffindor said, her tone soft. Harry interpreted it as not wanting others to overhear, not wanting to think of the alternative.

“Not right now.”

* * *

 

Draco couldn’t help but smile at his friends upon returning to his dormitory, Luna having dropped him off at the entrance. Briefly, he wondered if he could call Lovegood his friend but quickly dismissed it; after all, she had been held in the dungeons of his family home, subjected to the mockery of Death Eaters and the cruel insanity of his aunt. He smiled at those he knew were his friends, sitting in the common room still in their pajamas, speaking in harsh, worried whispers. The blonde didn’t speak up, hoping to sneak passed them but Pansy quickly spotted him.

“Draco!” she exclaimed, standing up so quickly that the quilt she had been using to keep warm fell off her shoulders, leaving her in her nightgown, “Where have you been?!”

“Ah…” he mumbled, unsure what to tell them as Pansy rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck; Draco hugged her easily, knowing that -despite her unwillingness to admit it- The War had taken its toll on her, leaving them with the anxious girl completely unlike how she had been before.

Blaise gave him a knowing look, Theo laughing quietly and Goyle -who looked at the boys, confused- picked up Pansy’s quilt and draped it back over her shoulders.

“You’d spend the night with some poor son of a bitch?” Theo asked, breaking out into hysterical laughter.

“If he did then we’ll know by this afternoon,” Blaise said nonchalantly, “with Draco’s sexual prowess.”

The blonde rolled his eyes, wrapping the quilt around Pansy’s shoulders in a tight way that he knew would make her feel safe before pushing her into Goyle’s arms (not unkindly). “You’re acting like children. If you must know, I was too pissed to find my way back and Luna took pity on me and let me stay with her.”

“What a shame,” Pansy said with a small smirk that was so reminiscent of her old self, it made Draco’s heart hurt, “I had hoped you’d find _someone_ to make you happy by now…”

“Don’t be stupid. Who here would-?”

Blaise cut Theo off with an elbow to the ribs and Draco’s signature seething glare had the brunette snapping his mouth shut, sheepish. “The year’s hardly started, Pans. There’s plenty of time for Draco to find someone to warm his bed on a regular basis,” Blaise said, having grown patient in a way he hadn’t been before and much more open about being kind (if only to his friends and other Slytherins). He collapsed on a plush, green couch -spreading himself out in an ungentlemanly, pedestrian way -and smirked in Draco’s direction, “Let’s hope it’s not a Gryffindor.”

Theo cackled, lying spread eagle on the green carpet, his long limbs taking up almost the entirety of the expensive, ancient rug. “Can you imagine that? Draco with a Gryffindor!”

“No thanks…” Goyle grunted, scrunching up his nose as he headed back to his rooms to sleep the rest of the weekend away.

“Oh, please!” Pansy huffed, jabbing her finger at Blaise’s chest, “Don’t pretend like you don’t fancy the Weasley girl! Whenever she enters the dining hall, you swoon at her hair beneath the candle light.”

Theo and Pansy laughed together as Blaise’s cheeks darkened and he tried to huff out a defense to the contrary but they fell on deaf ears. Though Blaise had often hid behind the blood purity dogma that pureblood families (most of them, anyway) rehearsed tirelessly; though they had all believed it at one point, it seemed that Blaise’s infatuation was doing wonders to humble him. But Draco didn’t pay any particular mind to any of it, his mind on the Weaselette. Hadn’t she and Potter been an item? He imagined how she must look, her red hair fanned across Potter’s pillow, matching the Gryffindor crimson perfectly, and felt a sick feeling of unease. A feeling he squished violently. She was a lucky girl, if Draco’s memory of last night could be trusted, though it was still coming back in bits and pieces; there was no question of consent -though, with Potter, the blonde doubted he’d ever think to force sex upon someone- and they both had been smashed and willing.

And, judging by the bruises and aches on his thighs, his hips, his back and the tenderness of his entrance, Potter was definitely well equipped with a tool he knew how to use.

“I’m going back to sleep,” he said instead, “So should you three. We have to help with the reconstruction this afternoon.”

They groaned but Draco knew they’d listen to his advice. Eventually. None of them particularly enjoyed working with people they knew were silently judging them -and sometimes not so silently- but did it nonetheless. No one had a large part in The War besides Draco, Crabbe and Goyle but they had felt like they had to pay for their families’ sins in one way or another (even if many of their parents were in Azkaban already).

When he got to his room, he stripped and spelled himself clean; before Blaise came in and saw the bruises, Draco put on a clean pair of underwear and slipped beneath his cool sheets. He cast a warming charm, feeling cold and alone.

Draco refused to think about how the temperature perfectly mimicked the heat of sleeping next to Harry Potter and how he fell asleep all the better with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you read my other stories (or even just browse through the titles and summaries, etc) you'll notice I'm on an "Omegaverse" kick recently. I don't know why, I just am. 
> 
> Anyway, this is NOT Omegaverse. It's gonna be mpreg (surprise, surprise but I have it in the tags soooooo...) but I'm gonna do something a little... "different" for this one. I tried to elude to it in the tags, but if you don't gleam what I'm trying to get at then have no fear because I'll explain it later in the story


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks Malfoy is up to something. Scratch that. Malfoy is DEFINITELY up to something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIDE NOTE: 
> 
> This chapter takes place about a week after Harry and Draco have drunk sex and wake up in bed together

“Harry, stop it,” Hermione hissed, pouring over the HIstory of Magic textbook on her lap while she picked at her breakfast.

“What?”

“Staring at Malfoy,” she huffed in irritation at his purposeful obtuseness, “It isn’t sixth year.”

“Even I noticed, mate,” Ron said and, yeah, if Ron noticed then he was being obvious as hell.

“I think Malfoy’s up to something,” he finally said as he pushed his eggs around his plate, ignoring his marmalade slathered toast for the moment (he didn’t like to waste food -nearly never did- but he didn’t feel like eating it yet), “And I was right sixth year!”

Hermione sighed in a way that let everyone around her know what she felt about the situation as she marked her place and closed her book; Harry tensed because, if she closed her book, she was fucking serious and that was terrifying. “Harry, ever since the trials, Malfoy has been on probation and wards have been placed on his wand - _which you returned_ by the way- so he can’t do anything,” she said, raising her eyebrows meaningfully, “If he was up to anything, I’m sure you’d know.”

“You think they’d really tell me anything?” Harry snapped, eyes turning away from Hermione and back to Malfoy. He was sitting at the Slytherin table, he and the other eighth years sitting slightly apart from the others but nothing too noticable (Harry noticed the difference, the eighth years at the Gryffindor table with a wide gap between them and everyone else); the blonde was wedged between Nott and Zabini, both of which were laughing and stealing food from his plate as Pansy sat across from him, chatting his ear off, and Goyle watched it all with silent amusement. It made Harry’s chest heavy in an odd, unfamiliar way and he _really_ didn’t want to think about _why._ “No one told me anything before and I was involved in the whole prophecy, wasn’t I? Why would they tell me now?”

“Because you’re the Savior!” Ron said loudly, spraying bits of not completely chewed food all over the place.

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded, disgusted, and Harry agreed with her. _Ew_. The red head had the decency to look sheepish but his “kicked puppy look” was undermined by the loud cheer that came from the rest of the Gryffindor table and the rest of the dining hall, eventually.

Harry flinched and Ron tried to apologize but, once again, it was undermined by the noise; he didn’t think he’d ever get used to that and just hoped that all of… _that_ would pass. There was no way they knew what they were talking about, they were just cheering mindlessly and it was starting to irritate him. When he came back to Hogwarts in the beginning to finish up his education on Hermione’s and Mrs. Weasley’s behest, it had been a painful process to get everyone to treat him normally, to stop staring at him, open mouthed and silent or treating him like some sort of idol. It didn’t sit comfortably with him at all.

The Gryffindor looked back up, making eye contact with Malfoy across the dining hall, the blonde scowling and glaring at their house’s table. Harry wanted to get up and defend himself but remained frozen in his seat. Instead, he watched as Zabini sneered at the Gryffindor table and said something clearly sarcastic and biting -insulting- and Nott snorted, laughed in an undignified way that included throwing his head back; Draco looked away from them, smiling slightly and giving a soft chuckle in response. Parkinson entwined their fingers on top of the dining table and Goyle said something that was probably stupid and unintelligent.

Harry was irritated, tearing his toast apart and smearing marmalade on his fingers before scooping eggs on top and angrily shoving them into his mouth.

“Mate…”

He glared at his best friend, which immediately had Ron shutting up with a peace mongering gesture. Of course, Hermione took that as a sign for her to add in her two cents. “Harry-.”

 _"No._ Not talking about it.”

She huffed, opening her book back up with a loud, angry thump. “Remember you have to help Bill with DADA first thing, you stubborn mule.”

* * *

He wondered what Malfoy’s schedule was, determined to figure it out because Malfoy just _had_ to be up to something. He could feel it. Harry didn’t see him during his first class, DADA, which he was getting an honorary NEWT in but Bill Weasley, who had taken up the position as a safer alternative to Curse Breaking (he and Fleur wanted to settle down and start a family, he had admitted after a little too much to drink), or his break. He had History of Magic next, which he shared with Hermione and Malfoy (which he had forgotten because he always sat in the back of the room, Pansy at his side and continuously whispering in the blonde’s ear, much to Harry’s suspicion and Hermione’s annoyance); Zabini always met up with them in the hallway to walk to the dining hall together, where Nott and Goyle were already waiting for them, Harry noted.

Whenever he was caught staring too long, trying to find _something_ that would point to Malfoy being up to no good, the blonde would flush a barely there pink and give his signature sneer.

What the hell was he up to?

“Good afternoon, Harry,” Luna greeted, sliding into the seat next to the Gryffindor, “How have you been?”

“Fine, I suppose,” he said, scratching his neck awkwardly and unable to meet Luna’s eyes -he didn’t want to think about the morning after… after he and Malfoy… he just wanted to _get over_ it- “Until I go to Potions next.”

“At least it’s full of seventh and eighth years. They all already know how terrible you are at it.”

“What about you? I always forget…”

“It’s ok, Harry. You have a lot on your plate,” she said with an understanding smile, patting his hand in that kind way she always did, “I have Care of Magical Creatures next. It’s such a relaxing way to end the day.”

“Wait!” he choked, abruptly remembering their brief exchange during the… Morning After That Shan’t Be Recalled, “Don’t you have that class with Malfoy?”

“Yes, Draco is in my class,” she said with a small frown, one that would be cute if it weren’t so out of place. That, and the casual, familiar way she said the Pureblood’s first name had him pausing. “Why?”

“Look, Luna,” he couldn’t believe he was hesitating telling her about this, but she was obviously -strangely- nice to Malfoy, “I think Malfoy’s up to something.”

“Oh, Harry,” the Ravenclaw sighed, sounding so disappointed in him it was almost painful, “Why would you say that? He’s been trying so hard. If this is about the other day, he didn’t-.”

“Luna-!”

“Good afternoon, class!” Professor Flitwick greeted as he entered the classroom, thankfully cutting off the conversation Harry didn’t want to have but might have because Luna was a crafty Ravenclaw and, well, Luna.

But what did she mean that Malfoy was trying hard? To… what? Be nice? Not a complete prat? Was… having sex part of Malfoy “trying hard” or was he reading too much into it? Because, even though it had been about a week, Harry kept on having dreams about _that night_ and he couldn’t decide if they were better or worse than his normal nightmares. Being on the run or the feeling of Draco _fucking_ Malfoy’s soft lips and hot mouth around his cock? Dying at Voldemort’s hand and coming back or how Draco _fucking_ Malfoy looked tinted in pink, eyes dazed and body arched and twitching with arousal? Fighting against the Dark Lord or the memory of how his cock looked thrusting into Draco _fucking_ Malfoy’s ass, the feel of it, the _sounds?_

A true dilema.

And how much did Luna know, anyway, because she seemed to know a lot…? Needless to say that all the answerless questions filling Harry’s head did nothing to help his concentration in Charms and Professor Flitwick felt the need to pull Harry to the side to ask if he was ok, which was just embarrassing. He also found himself following Luna to Hagrid’s, unthinkingly.

“Harry, don’t you have Potions next?” she prodded, sweetly and gently, books to her chest and adorably confused, “You’re going the wrong way.”

Just as she said that, Harry caught sight of Malfoy walking ahead of them, alone, robes billowing around him in a very Snape-like way. He gulped at the intimidating, elegant image Malfoy made before he asked Luna quietly, “When do you have Potions?” 

“First thing in the morning, but I meant what I said earlier. Draco really is trying very hard,” she said with a disappointed shake of her head and a small, sad sigh that immediately made Harry feel absolutely terrible about himself. He quickly brought to mind everything Malfoy and his family had said and done to him, his friends, the rest of Hogwarts, the Dark Mark on his and his father’s arms, but that also meant he remembered how Draco had tried to save Crabbe from the fiendfyre, how Draco couldn’t make the final move against Dumbledore, how he lied about Harry’s identity, how Narcissa had lied, too, the _wand_ , the trials, everything that wasn’t so bad. It made his feelings a messed up jumble and didn’t make him feel better about Luna’s disappointment anyway.

“You see the good in everyone, Luna.”

“Only if it’s there,” she replied easily, though her frown was still scrunching up her eyebrows, “I better hurry to class. We’re talking about Nifflers this week.” With that, she hurried off towards Malfoy, bumping his side gently in greeting and beginning to talk to him quietly, a smile on both their faces. Malfoy’s was significantly smaller but so unlike his usual sneers and smirks that it had Harry standing -staring- in awe at how such a small thing changed his entire face. He was still a sleek, elegant, unobtainable, Pureblooded Slytherin but with that smile -gentle, shy, fond- it made him soften in a way that Harry didn’t think he’d be able to. Though he shuddered to think about boosting any of Malfoy’s already giant ego, the Slytherin gave off the vibe of a madonna, one of the ones where she’s holding baby Jesus in her lap and smiling.

Before he could be seen or dwell any more on all the… _feelings_ Malfoy’s smile gave him, the Chosen One turned on his heel -there was way less “robe flare”- and marched as quietly as he could to his Potions class. Hopefully, he would be too focused on _not_ fucking up his potion -and trying not to burn off his eyebrows- to think anymore about Malfoy and what he may be up to.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco KNOWS Potter is watching him. What the hell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a week after last chapter
> 
> (If you does the math then there has been 2 weeks between The Night That Shan't Be Recalled)

“Hasn’t Potter been staring at you lately?” Pansy asked suddenly as she played with Draco’s hair, his head in her lap as they sat overlooking the water. THey were on their break, Blaise and Theo probably off harassing some of the younger students and Goyle at remedial lessons.

The blonde choked on air, eyes snapping open to stare up at his friend, incredulous. “What in the world--?”

“Don’t deny it. I know you’ve noticed,” she said with a sly look cast down at him, fingers carding through his hair in a way that made Draco feel like a cat… fuck it felt nice.

“I have,” he admitted with a sigh, rubbing his cheek against her thick thighs, which made her laugh and poke him in the sides and face, “But it’s not unusual. You know that.”

“Well… you’re not doing anything bad _now,”_ Pansy said with a frown, her fingers catching on several knots in his hair, apologizing by gently petting the sore spots after each flinch, “You can’t let him treat you like that.”

“Pansy--.”

“No, hear me out,” she snapped, tilting his face up by the hair so he’d have a better look at her serious expression, her dark eyes full of quiet indignation and fury on his behalf. “If you let Potter treat you like that, others will follow. They’ve done nothing but stare, ignore you and whisper behind your back so far. If Potter’s openly hostile towards you then the others will be, too.”

Draco remained silent, rolling over his thoughts. She had a point, though he didn’t want to admit it; despite… everything, he loathed the thought of others looking down at him or treating him… _less._

_“Do not fail me, Draco Malfoy. You know the consequences for displeasing me,” the Dark Lord said, Nagini winding her way up her master’s body, hissing at the blonde threateningly (he’d never admit so outloud, but Draco swore the serpent was amused)._

“Draco?” Pansy’s voice was soft, understanding as she gently coaxed him from the memory. She had met the Dark Lord a handful of times --enough to be perpetually petrified-- they all had at one point, but he had lived in Draco’s _home._ She would never be able to comprehend what he had seen, had heard, had gone through.

“I know you’re right, Pans,” the blonde sighed, feeling the Dark Mark as if it were a burn or brand, “but if I… _‘confront’_ Potter then I would only make it worse…”

“So do it discreetly,” she shrugged, fingers dancing over his chest, grazing his scars through his shirt. They began to ache, too, and Draco remembered the look on Potter’s face as he bled out on the bathroom floor --horrified-- and the faces he made the night the two of them--. “Pull him to the side after our next class and have a word with him. I’ll tell the others.”

He sighed, suddenly feel the weight of his existence pressing down on him. He thought he had escaped all that, finally, with the Dark Lord’s death but the weight of making the right or wrong decisions, his family name, furthered stained, and the stares of all those that judged him for what he had done. It wasn’t as if he denied it all, but they didn’t know what he had to… what he… they just didn’t _know._ Draco felt smothered by everything, tired and exhausted, as if he’d never feel anything else again.

He sighed, eyelids fluttering closed as he rolled onto his side and hid his face in Pansy’s lap. “Let me take a nap for now…” he muttered, his back burning.

“Potter just walked out. He’s looking at us,” Pansy informed quietly, though she never stopped her gentle petting (he hated looking so vulnerable in front of Potter --anyone-- but it just felt too _good…)_

“I know,” Draco said tesnely, refusing to move, “Just ignore him for now, Pansy. I’ll handle it.”

She hummed in the way she did when she had something bitchy to say but was keeping herself in check (if only barely). Draco was thankful for that, at least, even more so when she draped his robes over him like a blanket. _My friends are too good for me…_ Draco thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 After the break, they went to History of Magic together, not that Draco could concentrate very much, his mind on the “confrontation” he would have to have with Potter. Pansy didn’t talk much, thankfully, and tried to take detailed notes; she tried hard, but it was one of her hardest classes and Professor Binns hardly paid the two any mind so Draco would probably need to get notes from someone else (he’d probably have to ask Luna for one of her housemates’ notes). Despite his distraction and the class’ agonizingly monotone professor, the time passed way too quickly and he found himself being hip bumped by an encouraging Pansy and Blaise, who expressed his sympathy with sarcasm before dragging Pansy to the dining hall.

“I really don’t think it’s as bad as you say,” he heard Granger, which meant Potter was nearby, “Professor Binns is very intelligent, you have to--.”

“Granger,” he stopped the pair immediately in their tracks, both looking at him with wide eyes --though Potter was beginning to look as if he wasn’t breathing, his face changing color-- and the students in the hall stopped to stare, too, practically salivating for a fight, “Good afternoon.”

"I-- good afternoon,” the Gryffindor female replied, visibly shocked and flabbergasted, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Are you trying to catch flies? Close your mouth,” Draco sneered, suddenly desperate for something routine, familiar, something he could wrap around himself protectively. As she snapped her mouth shut and glared, he pulled his robes closer to himself --they were still in their first month of school, though it was ending later that week, and Draco used as much willpower as he had to ignore the heat lulling him drowsy --and turned his glare to Potter, toning down the sneer least he be attacked by the rest of the student body. “Potter. I would like a word with you” --he glared and sneered at their audience, making some of the younger students bolt with fear-- “in private.”

He watched Potter pale suddenly and wondered if the Chosen One thought he’d _really_ want to “out” him to the whole school. Fucking pathetic. For one, it wouldn’t benefit him in anyway and, secondly, Potter’s denial was truly spectacular.

The was no way Potter would revel so much in sliding his cock down Draco’s throat or fisting the Slytherin’s cock from behind if he were completely heterosexual.

Besides, he didn’t need his reputation to be further soiled; the stuffy old wizards were stuck in their old ways and there would be no doubt that _everyone_ would accuse Draco of turning Potter gay.

"I-- yeah,” the Chosen One quickly agreed, “Uh, Hermione, just head to lunch without me. I’ll meet up with you.”

“Harry--.”

_“Hermione.”_

“Fine,” Granger snapped through gritted teeth, sliding past Draco with a huff and muttering about stupid Gryffindor men. He agreed with her, though he’d never admit it, and led Potter to the nearest bathroom, the heavy footsteps signaling that the Gryffindor was following him and --irritatingly-- keep up with him. Once to the bathroom, he cast a few spells and charms to lock the door and keep out eavesdroppers before going through each individual stall to make sure there wasn’t any unwanted guests.

“Look, Malfoy, if this is about--.”

“No, I don’t plan to discuss the horrible _mistake_ we both made and cause the untimely demise of your heterosexual identity,” Draco snarled, putting his wand in his pocket and crossing his arms defensively. _Of course_ Potter was going to start a fight right off the bat.

“Then what--?”

“If you let me fucking finish,” he snapped, tired and starving and struggling not to strangle the Boy Who Lived Twice; it seemed to shock Potter into listening, however, “I want to know why the _fuck_ you’ve been staring at me.”

His pale, slightly green face turned a bright red and the complexion change would’ve worried Draco if he cared. Which he didn’t. At all. _Pft._ “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend to be dumber than you are,” the blonde said with a dismissive eye roll and agonized sigh that he practiced in the mirror as a child (Pansy had walked in on him at one point and that was… _ugh)._ “I’ve noticed. My friends have noticed. What do you want?”

Potter pressed his lips together, thinking so hard it looked painful. “Why’d you have sex with me that night?”

He let out an undignified noise of complete exasperation, tossing his hands up in the air before they relocated to his hips. “What the-- are you serious? Is that what this is about?” Draco fought the urge to run his fingers through his perfectly gelled hair (he fixed it right before History of Magic, the gel he used not suitable for potion brewing any way), “Look, Potter, we were both drunk and we made a mistake. I’m bent, you’re not, etc. The reason why we probably decided to fuck --and it was a joint decision, you fool-- was because Blaise was otherwise occupied and you couldn’t find the Weaselette.”

“Ginny and I-- I mean, we-- we wouldn’t--.”

“Stop.” Merlin, why was Potter stuttering like a girl? Creepy. “Just forget it, Potter. It never happened,” not like Draco could forget about it. Ever since, he’s had dreams about Potter --his dark skin, the new, defined muscle that replaced his scrawniness, the perfect length and width of his cock --and that night; it was stuck in his head like a bad song, but he’d never tell Potter that. “You think I’m… ‘plotting’ something. Don’t you?” The Gryffindor’s silence was an answer in and of itself. “Well, I’m not. All I want to do is finish with my education and attempt to get a job, though I will most likely fail.” Crap, he said too much!

“Wait, what do you--?”

“Keep your Gryffindor ideology away from me,” the blonde hissed like the snake he was, waving his wand to dispel the charms and open the door. The _bang_ of it flying open echoed throughout the bathroom and scattered the few nosey students trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, despite the spells in place. He was so tired, mentally and physically with his head starting to hurt and the muscles in his back, abdomen and thighs were starting to ache. Draco spun on his heels without a proper farewell and made his way to the lunch room.

* * *

 “Draco, you don’t look well,” Luna said, tucking her hand in his elbow and pulling him toward her and resting her head on is shoulder. She guided him quickly and efficiently to Hagrid’s hut, and Draco _knew_ Potter was staring at him --regardless of the way they burned his back-- and that the two had been talking about him; the little pang of betrayal was stupid but he hoped Luna --at the very least-- didn’t have anything negative to say about him. “Have you been sleeping?”

“I’ve been sleeping.” _Poorly,_ he tried not to add but it seemed to hang in the air between them. Quickly, the Slytherin changed the subject. “What did Hagrid say we were studying this week?” 

“He told me he was going to get Bill Weasley to convince his brother to bring a baby dragon,” Luna cooed, ignoring the way Draco tensed at the mention of the DADA professor. He had worked with him a few times as they finished the repairs to Hogwarts and his nerves never completely settled, Bill Weasley’s eyes always intense and, seemingly, all seeing. And the scar on his face did not reduce the intimidation factor. “He’s also thinking of getting a Wampus cat from North America.” She gave Draco a look out of the corner of her eye and added, slyly. “Hagrid’s thinking of bringing you in on some side projects, too.”

“I-- Luna!”

“We both saw how gentle you were handling the Nifflers last week,” she insisted, tugging on his arm in her excitement, “and with the Salamanders and Mackled Malaclaws the weeks before! You have a way with them, Draco.”

"Luna, don’t force him to do this,” he pleaded, dropping his voice low so no one but her would hear it, “I don’t want-- I--.”

“He doesn’t hold a grudge against you,” the Ravenclaw insisted before guiding him over to Hagrid’s hut at a quicker pace; Draco was tired, his muscles aching but he forced himself to move. Surprisingly, this was one of his favorite classes and he was excited to get started… he also didn’t want to let anyone know how tired he truly was. The repairs had been taking more out of him lately but he didn’t want his friends to worry. “And we’re working with Streelers today.”

Draco let out an annoyed, dramatic groan, making Luna giggle affectionately and light up like a little sun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco isn't feeling well and... Harry is just in soooo much denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid is in this chapter and I just want to apologize in advanced because I cannot write his accent and I doubt I can write his character well.

“Malfoy, wake up or you’ll be late!” Theo shouted, yanking aside the heavy curtains surrounding the blonde’s bed. He was curled in a ball and tangled in a warm blanket cocoon. Draco refused to open his eyes, sleep still tugging at him insistently; he was so  _ warm  _ and his limbs were too heavy, making getting up an impossible task. He hid his face in his pillow, pleading to the powers that be that this would be one of those days that his friends had no patience and would move on fairly quickly, for their own sake. 

“Is he up?” Blaise’s voice came from far away, the door to their room probably left open from where Theo had barged in. There were only a few Slytherin “eighth years” returning, many of whom --like Draco and his friends-- had been sent to Hogwarts over the summer either by the Ministry or their families, to improve their reputation in the Wizarding World, so there were only a few eighth year rooms. Blaise and Draco shared one with two other boys, that avoided speaking to them as much as possible, while Goyle and Theo were in another room with another two boys that were the same (they were nicer to Theo, but just barely… Draco seemed to be a social leper, affecting all those that came in contact with him).

“No,” Theo grunted, trying to mimic the disgust and snobbishness Blaise could portray without even trying --the brunette completely failed-- “he’s doing the thing with the blankets again! Can you--?”

“Merlin’s balls, Theo!” Blaise groaned, his entrance back into their room signalled by his angry footsteps and the smell of his cologne--. Draco’s stomach lurched, vomit surging up his throat at the familiar Italian brand Blaise had been wearing for  _ years. _ The blonde practically fell out of his bed in his haste to make it to a toilet, sprinting out of the room; Blaise and Theo’s worried voices followed him but he couldn’t make it in time--.

“Draco--?!” He vomited on Theo’s slippers --the brand new ones his grandmother had bought him-- his fingers twisting in the fabric of the brunette’s sweater. “What the fuck?!”

“S-Sorry,, I d-” Draco couldn’t finish his apology, gagging on more vomit. His face was burning in embarrassment and, much to his horror, he felt tears trying to break from the corners of his eyes.

“Oh my god, is he--?”

“Eleanor, get a house elf,” Blaise quietly commanded. Eleanor, a muggle-born first year Draco had found crying after being sorted into the Slytherin house. She didn’t have the same aversion to Draco and his friends that other students did, since she was from a muggle family and knew very little from the Dark Lord’s occupation of Hogwarts and the ensuing battle; and, for some reason, had taken to approaching them for homework advice. With an alarmed squeak, she rushed to find one.

The blonde eventually stopped vomiting, breathing heavily and shaking. “Sorry, I-- Blaise’s cologne suddenly--.”

“We should get you to Madam Pom--.”

“No!” he cut off Theo’s suggestion, glaring between him and Blaise meaningfully from beneath his fringe. “I’m  _ fine.” _

* * *

 

“You’re staring at Malfoy again,” Ron grunted through a mouthful of toast and sausage. 

Hermione’s head jerked up to glare at (one of) her best friend but was ignored. All he could focus on was the Slytherin that looked like death warmed over, dark circles beneath his eyes, pale hair limp and messy… he hadn’t even looked that bad at the trials. Their seating arrangement had shifted with Luna having taken Nott’s usual seat (much to the alarm of the other Ravenclaws), rubbing Malfoy’s back in concern, Nott, Goyle and Parkinson speaking quietly and giving the blonde boy looks, the way Draco was leaving against Zabini going completely unacknowledged.

_ “Because Blaise was otherwise occupied…” _

Harry felt some dark, writhing thing in his chest and he had experience enough with the emotion that he knew what it was:  _ jealousy. _ He didn’t want to admit it but he was too familiar with it to deny it. Did he have a liking for Luna, since he and Ginny had never… gotten back together? He watched as Luna’s slender had fluttered over Malfoy’s back and arms; she didn’t say anything, just watched him with concerned eyes and a furrowed brow. It felt… wrong but when Harry tried to imagine Luna’s hands on him like that, that didn’t feel right either.  _ So I don’t want Luna, _ the Gryffindor thought as she stood up, whispering to him in a way that spoke of intense familiarity before kissing his cheeks.

He was so overcome with his jealousy --questions running through his mind so fast he couldn’t pick up what they were-- he didn’t see Luna slide a folded sheet of paper into Zabini’s hand and brush against his shoulder. All Harry could focus on was the slight blush on Malfoy’s cheeks and the way he leaned into her kiss. Subtly.

As soon as the Ravenclaw was gone, Malfoy face planted into Zabini’s shoulder, giving a small smirk as he whispered something that made the other boy twitch and blush. Their friends laughed and Zabini huffed, sliding a hand around the blonde’s shoulders to adjust his position. Harry zeroed in on the way Malfoy leaned against the darker skinned Slytherin without reservation, eyes drooping as if he was going to fall asleep.  _ No, no, no, that was all wrong. _

“Harry?”

He blinked, turning to his concerned friends cluelessly. “Huh? What?”

“You looked about ready to kill someone,” Ron said with a pointed look at the way his magic came from his fingertips and was cracking his water glass.

“Sorry, I’m just… lost in thought,” he lied half heartedly, “and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Speaking of talking… you and Ginny haven’t spoken yet,” the redhead said trying to sound casual but doing a terrible job at it. After Voldemort had died, Harry and Ginny didn’t really have time to talk about their relationship --the dead and managing the remaining mess having taken precedence-- and over the summer Harry had been too busy speaking at trials and helping repair Hogwarts. Ginny had gone back to the Burrow with everyone except Bill --who stated to help with clean up-- and Charlie who went back to Romania. “Whatever you decide to do, don’t keep yanking her around. It’s starting topiss me off, mate.”

“This isn’t one of those conversations you can put off,” Hermione said pointedly and, really, Harry wouldn’t trade her for anyone in the world but, sometimes, he was really sick of her shit.

“I know that, Hermione,” Harry said through gritted teeth, “I’ll talk to her tonight.”

“Thanks. Mum was really starting to put up a fuss. Since she found out Bill and Fleur’re settling down and having a baby, she’s been really annoying with  _ everyone.” _

“She only wants to see you happy.”

“No, ‘Mione. She just wants grandbabies,” he said with a pout and a huff directed at his girlfriend, “She’s even been asking if we’re gonna…  _ you know.” _

She blushed, avoiding his eyes quickly and dropping the matter entirely.

“This isn’t one of those conversations you can put off,” Harry mimicked, throwing her words back at her. Her glare only confirmed he was toeing some line but, at the time, he didn’t really give a fuck. He was angry.

“Look, I don’t know why you both are fighting so much lately but you’re good mates. And it’s annoying.”

Hermione sighed, leaning over and planting a kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek, his face turning as red as his hair. “I found out that someone’s getting a better grade in a class we used to take,” she admitted, running her hand through her frazzled hair, “He needs it for his NEWTs, too, so it’s advanced.”

“Must be some sort of witchcraft,” Harry teased and, with the silly muggle phrasing, she broke out into an amused grin and the tension between them disappeared. “What class is it?”

“Care of Magical Creatures,” she huffed, clearly irritated, “Hagrid was bragging about him. Even said he was going to bring him in on side projects… he never offered me that!”

“We took care of his pets all the time!” Ron said, shuddering as he clearly remembered the Acromantulas they had encountered in the Forbidden Forest.

“Not for class, though!”

“Who is it?” Harry asked, reaching for a box of Cheeri-Owls and milk.

Hermione hesitated but he didn’t have time to wonder why, she suddenly blurted --quietly-- “Malfoy…!”

He froze and tried not to react in a way that was…  _ extreme. _ “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy?” Harry said, his voice cracking as his throat suddenly turned dry. His mind was blank. He didn’t know what to say.

“How is  _ that _ possible?! Didn’t he cry like a baby around Buckbeak that one time?” Ron said, breaking the silence instead.

“I don’t know. If it wasn’t Hagrid I’d think Malfoy was paying him off,” Hermione signed but the Chosen One barely registered her words as he caught movement from the Slytherin table out of the corner of his eye.

He watched as Malfoy left the table, his friends casting intense looks at the blonde’s back before their heads came together and they began to talk rapidly. As Malfoy made his way to the dining hall door, he was joined by a tiny first year, a Slytherin girl with mocha skin and fluffy hair. There was very little personal space between the two --a foot, if that-- but instead of pushing her away, Malfoy responded to whatever she was saying with patience Harry never saw directed at anyone.

He felt that familiar surge of jealousy but he tried to reason with himself; she was just a little girl, a stranger, and it was just Draco  _ fucking Malfoy. _

“Harry?”

“Uh, sorry, I have to get going,” he said quickly, hoping they wouldn’t notice who he was staring at or, most importantly,  _ why, _ “I need to help Bill set up for DADA.”

“Ah, in case he didn’t tell you, he’s really grateful for your help,” Ron shouted at his friend’s back before turning to his girlfriend to be all gross and lovey-dovey.

Harry had the irrational idea to follow Draco and the first year and was doing that, too, until an all too familiar hand grabbed his sleeve and spun him around. He recognized the red hair, the freckle covered face, the furious eyes, the Quidditch toned body and sun kissed skin hidden by their Hogwarts uniform.

_ “Harry.” _

He recognized that tone of voice, too, and flinched away from it. “Ginny.”

Her hands were on her wide hips and she looked perfectly pissed and, eerily, like her mother. “We need to talk.”

“I told Bill I’d--.”

“I told him you’d be late,” she interrupted --and damn it all she was cunning! “We need to talk, for Merlin’s sake, and we’re going to do it now!”

“...Fine. Lead the way.” The last thing Harry wanted to do was have this conversation because, in all honesty, he hadn’t thought about their relationship very much. Even after the war was over it had taken up all his attention. The time he had gotten shit faced at the all houses inclusive party was  _ supposed  _ to be his attempt to unwind and a celebration of his return to a normal, magic school life so he could be a normal wizard with a normal magic oriented job. But, instead, he ended up in bed with his long time rival, who only continued to fill his head with things that were…  _ more  _ than just his relationship with Ginny.

> _ Malfoy’s breath smelled of fire whiskey and, insanely, Harry wondered if his mouth tasted of it, too. _
> 
> _ “What?” the blonde asked with a hungry smirk, one Harry had never seen on his face. It made the Gryffindor’s dick twitch. _
> 
> _ “Malfoy, I--.” He didn’t know how to finish his thought, one of Malfoy’s hands unbuttoning his shirt while the other pulled at Harry’s red and gold colored tie. He looked so pretty, face pink, blonde hair messy and grey eyes lidded. _
> 
> _ “Scared, Potter?” the blonde said, eyes and mouth challenging. _
> 
> No… no, I’m not scared.  _ Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, Harry did what he wanted to do for years (not that he’d admit it). He slid one hand into Malfoy’s silky blonde hair, the other on the back of the Slytherin’s neck and snogged that smug, self satisfied smirk off his face. _
> 
> _ His mouth tasted of it, too… _

“Ok, we’re here.” Ginny had led him to an empty bathroom and he quickly cast some spells and charms around the room, keeping the doors locked and eavesdroppers out. He didn’t go so far as to check the stalls, but he didn’t fail to see the parallels between the confrontation with Malfoy and the current confrontation he was having with Ginny.

“What do you want to--?”

“Don’t you dare ask me what I want to talk about. You  _ know!” _ she snapped, red hair flying about her like a halo of fire, face set in a display of furious determination --one that was so serious it was intimidating (frightening), “I want-- we need to talk about  _ us. _ Is… there even an ‘us’ anymore?”

“Ginny… I’ve been so busy, I haven’t even…”

“You haven’t even thought about me.”

It wasn’t even a question, the way she said it, and Harry frowned. It sounded so awful when she put it like that. “I’ve been busy cleaning up the mess Voldemort” --her jaw twitched-- “left behind. I had to help clean up here, I had to testify at trials, help find the Death Eaters that managed to get away --the dangerous ones. I just haven’t thought about our future. Or the future at all.”

“So think about it now,” she demanded, hands curling into fists, “Do you want to be with me? Do you want to get back together?”

“I--.”

“I want an answer  _ now, _ Harry.”

“I-- fine! Ok, I… want to be with you. I want to get back together with you.” Even as he said the words, Harry regretted them. They tasted bitter in his mouth  _ \--wrong-- _ and they did nothing to lessen the panic and anxiety lodging beneath his ribcage. Harry had blurted the answer he thought she wanted to hear, what he thought would make everyone happy.

So why did he feel so miserable?

Ginny stared at him, harsh and unreadable, before she broke the tension by giving the boy a wide smile, a smile that was like a solar eclipse --an awe inspiring force of nature. She was beautiful; red and golden like a true lioness, a true Gryffindor. But Harry didn’t feel blinded by it like he used to feel. “Oh,  _ Harry,” _ she breathed, throwing her arms around his neck, chest to chest, hips to hips, “I’m so happy!” Harry felt the fine muscles --skillfully and carefully developed through Quidditch-- shift beneath the soft, warm layer of her clothes and unmarked skin as she leaned up and kissed him.

Her lips were…  _ different. _ Fuller. Her taste and smell were unmistakably feminine (though not unpleasant) but…  _ different. _ Harry’s lips moved against hers, muscle memory taking over as his tongue stroked into her mouth and his hands squeezed her hips. She made a small, pleased sound, hands in his hair and pulling him closer; he felt arousal but it was barely simmering and he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was…  _ off. _

Harry pulled away, trying not to come off as eager or rude, panting against her lips and eyes sweeping over the blush trying to overpower her freckles. “I have to go,” he said breathlessly, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, “I can’t be late. Your brother--.” 

“Ugh, don’t talk about my brothers after you’ve just snogged me senseless,” the redhead joked, giving him a chaste peck, “We’ll continue this later…”

It was only after they had parted and Harry was halfway to the DADA classroom that he realized his hands were shaking.

* * *

 

“Found these lil’ fellas left all alone on the edge o’ the Forbidden Forest,” Hagrid said as he, Luna and Draco stared down at the padded basket full of Crup pups, their eyes not even open yet, “Their mum was nowhere ter be found an’ by the looks o’ things, hadn’t been ‘round fer sometime.” 

“Do you think she was killed or just…  _ left?” _ Draco asked, slowly lowering himself down to his knees --he didn’t want to start vomiting for the third time that day all because he had moved too fast-- beside the basket. The pups sniffed the air and wriggled their rear ends as they blindly made their way over to where Draco knelt. He felt some emotional strings being tugged in his chest at the sight of the tiny, defenseless  _ babies  _ that had been left to face the big, bad, cruel world all by themselves.

“Can’t say,” Hagrid said, sounding just as sad as Draco felt. The Slytherin was fighting back tears but he didn’t understand  _ why  _ he was acting so…  _ weak. _ “But it’s our job ter take care o’ them now.” 

Draco was aching all over --he just wanted to sleep and lay down for a long, long time-- but he gave Hagrid a small smile anyway, which seemed to surprise the half-giant, before turning back to the puppies. “And you’re… asking me to care for them?” he asked, wanting to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding. One of the pups made a small sound of distress and Draco immediately reached out; with a light, gentle touch, he caressed the pup beneath the chin, across the tiny head and skinny sides, repeating the motions on the other puppies that made similar sounds soon after.

“Aye. I a’ready spoke ter the Headmistress an’ she said you could keep ‘em in yer dorm while they’re so small,” he said, scrubbing a big hand over his bearded face, “I’m so glad yer so good with the pups. Crups are a wee bit different an’ I don’t think ol’ Fang would be able ter keep up.” The dog in question trotted up at the mention of his name and fell across Hagrid’s feet in an extraordinary fashion.

“I told you Hagrid’s fond of you,” Luna said rather dreamily, a blissful smile on her face as she carried their books, “and you look so much better now, Draco.”

“Thank you, Luna,” the Slytherin huffed, adjusting the basket in his arms, “but… I still have my doubts.” 

“They will fade over time. Don’t worry.”

_ “Did you hear? Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley got back together!” _

_ “No way! Where’d you hear that?” _

_ "Asa from Ravenclaw said she saw them snogging in one of the bathrooms. She was in the bathroom when they were doing it.” _

“Draco?”

He whipped around, grey eyes wide as they landed on a concerned Luna. “I…” he turned away from the gossiping fifth years, tightening his grip on his basket of Crups. He had something to take care of,  _ to protect, _ now; he couldn’t focus on Potter. Couldn’t care about him. Wouldn’t. He  _ didn’t. _ “I’m fine. Let’s just get these little ones inside.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Ginny are together... but he already finds his attention straying to a certain blonde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... it's been a month since I've updated? I've been flip flopping between how I was going to structure the upcoming chapters and how I'm going to write them but I've finally settled on something that I think will do....??
> 
> Side Note: This chapter takes place 3 weeks after Draco and Harry do the sex

“You need to see Madam Pomfrey,” Theo said as Draco hunched over a toilet and, really, it had become a ritual at that point since he said the exact same thing every morning when Draco would shoot out of bed to go vomit, “you’re starting to look like crap, too.”

“Go fuck a Dementor,” the blonde refusing as he did every time Theo would suggest something so… _unnecessary,_ groaning as his throat burned and the tears he had been struggling to hold back finally burst fourth, dripping down his nose and into the toilet water, “and hand me a tissue.”

Theo sighed, handing his friend a disposable tissue and rubbing his back, soothingly. He didn’t want to burden Draco, but he --along with their other friends-- were starting to get worried. Extremely worried. It wasn’t normal and it was obviously sucking Draco’s energy like a Dementor’s kiss. “Are you feeling up to coming up for breakfast?”

Reluctantly, the blonde shook his head and was grateful that it was the weekend; he felt worse than he ever had in his life, the only thing coming close had been the shit Voldemort put him through (on occasion). “Bring me back a muffin or a bread roll? Or something?” Draco asked, wincing at the sound of his voice and leaning tiredly against the other boy. Merlin, he had become so clingy lately, resting against Blaise during meals, on Pansy’s lap for a nap or against her side during class and leaning into Theo, Goyle _\--that_ had been awkward-- or Luna as they walked down the halls. He was pathetic.

“Of course,” the lanky teen huffed quietly, as if he were offended Draco would think otherwise. Merlin, he hated this, too! He was not a fucking _damsel,_ he wasn’t delicate; he was a former Death Eater for fuck’s sake! “Blaise will probably be the one bringing it up, though. I’m helping with repairs.”

 _"Whatever,”_ he dismissed, slowly pulling himself to his feet and willing his stomach to remain firm against whatever illness was plaguing him, “I don’t care who it is, just” --he cut himself off as his vision swam and his stomach lurched but, thankfully, it passed-- _“ugh,_ I’m going back to my room.” _I should probably act a little more grateful,_ Draco thought to himself. After all, his friends were throwing themselves out of their comfort zones and acting as open, supportive rocks, biting back sarcasm in favor of just saying what they meant (which was weird). Blaise had even stopped wearing his signature cologne --and cologne in general-- after a few days went by and they discovered that the smells only made him vomit more.

“Actually get some rest this time, will you?” Theo tsked as he rose as well, fixing the creases in his casual clothes, “I know you want to take care of those puppies, but you’re sick.”

“You’re not my mother,” the blonde responded rather childishly, but Draco had no more fucks to give. He left the bathroom as quickly as he was able, walking with an elegant stride even though he was still in his nightclothes; he didn’t want anyone to talk to him, not when his breath still probably smelled of vomit and he was barely in control of his emotions, bouncing between varying emotions heedless of logic, time or place.

_“Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter got back together, did you hear?”_

_“That’s old news!”_

_“I heard a third year in Hufflepuff say that they’re going on their ‘first date’ today.”_

_“...no_ way.”

Draco gritted his teeth and ignored the fourth year, Slytherin girls passing him as they headed to breakfast, giggling and gossiping like a couple of hens. _Don’t they have more important things to focus on?_ It took more self control than he’d like to admit to not cast a hex in their direction --he told himself that the people in the Ministry wouldn’t like that, even if it was a harmless stinging hex--as he picked up his pace and isolated himself in his empty dorm room.

As if sensing he had entered --they could probably smell him-- the puppies began to yip and whimper. A warm, fuzzy feeling he’d never admit to experiencing began to grow in his chest and he smiled, the tension leaving his body; he didn’t know that it would feel so good to take care of another living creature, to have another life depending on him to grow and be happy. He went over to the basket of Crups he kept by the side of his bed, six small bodies wiggling and sniffing the air as he knelt down and made sure to give each one a gentle caress and a careful chin scratch before he got to work feeding them. They all were getting so big, filling up the entirety of Draco’s hand, and were beginning to become experts at finding the nipple to the milk bottle, even without their sight and, after one particularly big yawn from one of the females in the litter --an energetic little girl with a smooth, pure white coat that he named Brighid-- he saw that they were already getting their teeth in.

 _I’ll have to get them on solid foods soon…_ the blonde realized as Brighid licked some milk off his fingers and nuzzled into the palm of his hand. He placed her down beside the brother and sister he had already fed --Andraste, a white and tan female with a broken coat, and Euclid, a male with a broken, white and black coat-- and she quickly sniffed her way over to them and wiggled her way into the middle of their cuddling, napping circle. Draco huffed, blinking away the tears that were illogically forming in his eyes. It felt so bittersweet, to see these fragile little creatures growing up before his very eyes.

He turned to the three remaining puppies, Adhara, Bede and Alexios, the latter on top of the runt of the litter, Bede, and nibbling on one of his ears, Adhara yipping at him all the while.

“Enough, you three,” he sighed fondly, he didn’t want to think about what he would do if someone walked in right now, it was such a cheesy scene he was engaged in, as he removed Alexios from the “dog pile”, “Why are you always trying to start something, Alexios?” The white Crup with the one black ear and a broken coat yipped at Draco in response, latching on to the nipple of the bottle with vigor, paws kneading the heel of his hand. _What a greedy little thing…_ the blonde thought as he coaxed Alexios away from the bottle, rubbing the Crup’s belly until his excited tail wagging had slowed down and the puppy grew sleepy and slow. As soon as Draco set him down with his other sleeping brother and sisters, the puppy immediately flopped down, half on top of Andraste, who hardly moved to acknowledge him.

When had he become so soft? Like a fucking Hufflepuff… He picked up Adhara next, letting out an irritated sigh, setting a whimpering Bede in his lap while he fed her; the brother and sister were best friends, Adhara protecting the runt of the litter from their bigger siblings, who liked to pick on him more often than not. Queasiness hit him and he screwed his eyes shut. _Oh, Merlin, I do not want to vomit on my bedroom floor! For the love of all that is pure in this world, I cannot throw up on the floor. Not again..._ The feeling of Adhara gently licking his fingers helped bring him back from the fact that he had felt the world spinning only a few moments ago and he managed to find the courage to open his eyes again, the world remain still as it always did; whatever was left in his stomach stayed there as he slowly blinked, a headache forming but, otherwise, he remained perfectly fine, if not a little shaky. The Slytherin looked back down at the smooth coated, tricolored female Crup puppy, mouth dropping open at the sight of her eyelids peeled back just enough to look up at him with amber eyes. Her tails began to wag as he made eye contact and she yipped at him excitedly. She… her eyes… Was he crying? Oh, damn it all, he was! Thick, disgusting tears were sliding down his face and he had to sniffle the snot back up into his nose, hiccuping as he looked down and saw her pretty eyes looking up at him with so much unconditional affection, it made him soft inside and his bones feel like jelly.

What was _wrong_ with him?

* * *

 Harry was still watching Malfoy and even he was starting to feel… weird about his behavior, staring at the Slytherin from across the dining hall as Ginny leaned against his side and held his hand, chatting to Hermione and Ron. He should be paying attention to his girlfriend, should be riding on the high that came with the rekindling of their relationship, but all he could focus on was Malfoy. The blonde, frankly, looked like complete crap; he was paler than he usually was --which was saying something-- with strands of his hair falling across his forehead and into his face and dark circles beneath his eyes. Even when he had returned to Hogwarts with the title of ex-Death Eater, he didn’t have that tired air of defeat. What was wrong with him? Was he sick? Harry wasn’t _worried,_ he just didn’t want to catch anything.

“I’m glad you two got all this sorted, mate,” Ron said, forcing the other teen to turn his attention back to his friends to keep from looking suspicious, “Mum and everyone else is, too.”

“Ah, yeah…” Harry awkwardly laughed, a knot forming in his throat and his stomach heavy with guilt. It wasn’t as if he didn’t… _like_ Ginny but the thought of getting Molly Weasley’s hopes up made him feel sick. He could only silently beg that she wasn’t planning a _wedding_ or _grandchildren._ It was only a few months ago that he defeated the Dark Lord; Harry didn’t even know what he wanted to do for the rest of his life, let alone if he wanted to settle down and bring another _life_ into the world.

“Luckily the holidays are still months away so Mum won’t bombard us too soon,” Ginny said with a causal laugh and a wink, but they were already in the first week of October and it wouldn’t be much longer until they went to the Burrow for the winter. 

“Oh, Ginny, we should--.”

“Good afternoon,” Luna’s pleasant greeting drifted  over to them from the side and, when Harry turned, he saw that there was an odd tightness to her smile and dark circles just beginning to form beneath her eyes.

“Merlin’s tits, Luna, are you ok?!” The Golden Trio jumped at Ginny’s exclamation, looking over to find the redhead half off the bench, eyes darting up and down the Ravenclaw’s body. She was worried and nervous, Harry could see her emotions written across her face, and that was worrying; the fierce Ginny Weasley was twitching anxiously. Harry was worried, obviously, since he had never seen her so unsure of… anything.

“I’m fine, Ginevra,” Luna half snapped with a face twitch and a barely concealed glare, the angriest Harry had ever seen her, and Ginny sat back down abruptly --ashen-- like a scolded dog. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind,” the girl apologized with a small smile before turning to the older Gryffindor girl, “Hermione, if you don’t mind, I would like to have a private talk with you.”

“I, uh, sure?” she replied, gathering her books and giving a confused shrug to Ron’s undecipherable “look” before hurrying to follow the Ravenclaw.

He turned to address that weirdness --if he was saying that interaction was weird, then it was definitely odd-- but found his girlfriend’s gaze firmly fixated on Luna’s retreating back, watching her until she disappeared through the dining hall doors. Harry couldn’t see her face but her brother clearly could, if his pinched eyebrows and confused expressions were any indication of what she looked like, he didn’t think he wanted to see it first hand.

Before the Gryffindor could delve too deeply into the situation, he was distracted by movement from the Slytherin table. Malfoy was being led away from the table by Zabini, the dark skinned Slytherin had an arm around Malfoy’s shoulders, whispering into his blonde hair. What was going _on_ between the two of them?

* * *

After dinner, Draco had taken up to taking short walks around the castle, since dinner was the only meal that never left him feeling like he had been hexed, and he had some time before he had to feed the puppies. It seemed a little sacrilegious and macabre to admire the beauty of the Hogwarts grounds when he could clearly see the faint scars on the castle and the not fully restored grounds, grass growing unevenly, charred trees and new ghosts, from the battle… but Hogwarts still found a way to leave him breathless by just _existing._ He always knew he’d end up at Hogwarts, had been told about its reputation, the alumni, how many doors it would open for him, but hadn’t been told how beautiful it was. Magic was so concentrated, as if seeping out of the castle walls. He wasn’t told about how beautiful it was when everything was quiet for a second or two, when the moon was reflected off the lake when it was perfectly still, or when the Whomping Willow would rustle its branches for no known reason, or when the sounds from the forest seemed to raise above the din of students. It made Draco feel alone in the best way. Here, Draco could be himself without worrying if it was right or wrong, didn’t have to make decisions he’d regret no matter which path he chose. He didn’t have to face the hate of others for offering the lives of their loved ones in exchange for his friends’, his family’s; he didn’t have to face his self hate for choosing the lives of others to sacrifice over his friends’, his family’s.

Like all of his peaceful moments, it was abruptly ended. Draco was staring out at the lake, mind blissfully empty, when he heard the commotion of obnoxious, heavy footed boys trying to be quiet and discreet, but failing. _So not Slytherins then,_ he thought with an amused smirk, sticking his head around the corner curiously. Three fourth years --two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw-- were crowded around a first year, snickering rudely and shoving each other obnoxiously; it wasn’t until one of the Gryffindors shoved the Ravenclaw particularly hard that Draco saw that they had cornered a first year Slytherin girl. _Eleanor._ Despite the defiant look on her round face, the ex-Death Eater still felt his stomach drop.

“Look guys! Guess you were sorted into Slytherin, huh, pipsqueak?”

“Duh,” she snapped, lifting her chin up in challenge, much to the irritation of the Gryffindors, who were practically growling, “so?” She wasn’t letting herself be intimidated or, at least, was good at pretending that she wasn’t. 

The Ravenclaw scoffed, crossing his arms and sticking his nose up in the air. “Don’t you know what that means?” he sneered with an irritating, whiney voice, “Slytherins are all the same! You’re all selfish, stuck up bigots that helped You Know Who!”

Draco gritted his teeth, shame causing a lump in his throat. Of course the others were getting blamed for what he had done. And they clearly didn’t know that Eleanor was Muggle-born, as if there weren’t any in the Slytherin house.

“I had nothing to do with that. I’m a first year.”

“But you’re part of the problem! You’re in their house,” the only one Draco hadn’t heard yet said as he took out his wand, making the Slytherins --Eleanor and Draco-- tense,  _ “you’re why our friends are dead.” _

Before the younger students could do anything, Draco’s hand was already moving, wand warm in his grip and magic singing as he cast several charms in quick succession. They were minor jinxes --an Ebublio and Melofors jinx for the Gryffindors and a Revulsion jinx followed by a Dancing Feet jinx on the Ravenclaw-- but they did enough to get them away from Eleanor. He hoped the Ministry wouldn’t give him grief for using such minor dark magic. “How pathetic,” he sneered, calling attention to his presence, “three boys picking on a little girl three years their junior. As expected of Gryffindors but not so much of a Ravenclaw.  _ Pity.” _

“Shit, it’s Draco Malfoy!”

“...Eleanor, go back to the dormitory,” Draco said, his voice tight as he rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t like having his Dark Mark out in open air but he supposed it would give him some sort of intimidation factor when his exhausted appearance was lacking. She must’ve seen something on his face because her jaw clicked shut and she gave the blonde a curt nod before rushing off. He looked back at the three other boys, who had quickly gotten out of his jinxes, “You three should go back to your dorms as well.”

“Hell no! Just because the Ministry decided to let you go, doesn’t mean we will! You should’ve joined your father in Azkaban.”

_ “Fine. _ I won’t stop your attempts at vigilantism,” Draco said, curling his lip in the way that always guaranteed an angry Gryffindor; he looked at them like they were rodents, beneath him, “I won’t make it easy for you, however.”

“We’ll make you regret coming back after what you did,” one of the Gryffindors said as they all took out their wands, the Ravenclaw having to pick his off the ground.

_ I already am, but it has very little to do with you, imbecile. _ “Doubtful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have stated this before, but I'm American so the dialect may be a little off (ex: Americans call it a flash light but a lot of people in the UK call it a torch, things like that) and while I try and use some slang words appropriately (ex: twat) I'm not changing my writing 100% because I would never post anything (because I'd be slaving away, disecting my writing). 
> 
> I also feel like that last little bit with Draco was SUPER American?? Just the cliche-ness of the bully scene was... ugh. I'm not really happy with how it came out and am considering going back, editting, adding things, deleting things, etc, etc but let me know what you think!!


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